Catch A Cold
by MadBat27
Summary: A new disease has reared its ugly head in Gotham. Initially causing symptoms no worse than the common cold, the fatal illness is a bargaining chip in a much grander design. But whose? 23/25.


It was almost midnight, and still the team of doctors and nurses hurried to and fro in the patient's room. All of them wore surgical masks over their mouth and nose. Through the special lenses in his cowl, Batman could observe from the roof several buildings away. The white blinds hung open, obscuring only the very edges of the room, allowing the vigilante to see everything. He could even make out the chart at time, when the doctor faced the right direction. It didn't look good.

Alfred had picked up chatter that Mercy Hospital was treating a patient with an undiagnosed illness. Symptoms originally presented as a mild cold; within days the disease had morphed into something much more aggressive. Blood had poured from his nostrils, seeped from his gums and trickled from his ears. Now, lying in the hospital bed connected to all manner of bleeping machines, his eyelids fluttered like a hummingbird's wings, and in the blur Batman could make out the whites of his eyes. Except they were no longer white. They were red.

It was almost dawn by the time the staff vacated the room, giving Batman the chance for a closer inspection. The man still twitched and shuddered in his sleep. Blood stained the pillow on either side of his head. A week ago, all he'd had was a cold. Now, he was at death's door.

Batman slipped into the room silently, wearing his rebreather to protect himself from contamination. Stepping close to the patient, the Dark Knight examined the patient's features. His nose was red from wiping with tissues, and his skin was pallid, but otherwise he looked reasonably healthy, now that cotton buds were stemming the tide of blood.

"Do you really think it wise to hover over the man's deathbed like that," Alfred asked over the coms.

"There are no airborne contagions, as far as the doctors can tell. I'm perfectly safe as long as I don't touch him. Even contact alone is unlikely to spread the disease."

"While I'm glad you're being prudent with your safety, that's not exactly what I was referring to," Alfred muttered. "The poor fellow has been through quite enough already. Should he wake, the last thing on Earth he should see is a Bat-like creature looming above him. He'll die of fright."

Batman carefully lifted an eyelid, examining the red hue of his eyes, the signs of irritation around his cornea, and dark circles underneath. Next, he pressed his fingers to the man's neck, locating the pulse.

"He'll die regardless."

There was a small sound on the other end, and Batman knew instinctively that Alfred had gasped and tensed. Even after all this time assisting him in the field, the gentleman's gentleman still reacted the same way to every death. Batman often wondered if he should worry about his own lack of response.

"Nevertheless…" Alfred began, recovering.

Batman missed the rest of the sentence as the door burst open behind him and the blue curtain was pulled aside. A doctor in a white coat and blue surgical mask stood in the doorway, backlit by the hallway. The rest of the floor could be seen from that room; the rooms were all empty and there didn't seem to be a single orderly, nurse or doctor around. A single gurney sat unattended just outside.

"Doctor…" Batman's gaze drifted down to the badge on his chest. Something was very wrong. "Harbinger?"

Suddenly, the doctor produced a sword from behind his back, and yelled out a battle cry. Batman's brow furrowed as the realization set in: this was a setup. But the patient was truly sick, that much was beyond question. Then how, and why? Most importantly, who?

Catching the blade on his gauntlet, Batman span around the assailant and pulled him into a headlock, ready for interrogation. Pressing a nerve in the pretender's sword arm, the Bat forced him to drop the weapon. He'd expected that to be enough, but he'd underestimated his attacker.

Without hesitation, the 'doctor' threw the crime-fighter over his shoulder. Batman hit the tiles with a loud crash, and hoped the cracks had come from the floor and not his own body. The doctor was already following up with an armbar. Good. That told Batman something useful; despite the blade, the doctor wasn't here to kill him. Whoever was behind this wanted Batman alive. And he had a pretty good idea of who that might be.

"Do you require assistance, sir?"

Escaping the arm lock, Batman switched fighting styles, delivering a kick to the assailant's head. As predicted, the doctor seamlessly adjusted his own style, blocking the blow and pressing his own attack. A series of punches clattered against the shockpads in Batman's suit, as he gave up ground, backing out of the room.

"No, Alfred. That won't be necessary."

The doctor was well-trained. Mirroring Batman, he flowed from stance to stance, shifting through combat styles with grace and deadly precision. Savate, Bakom, Systema, Bokator, Muay Thai, Okitchitaw… there was no doubting his expertise.

At length, Batman landed a bone-crunching elbow to the doctor's ribs, and in a single movement, somersaulted over the abandoned gurney and pushed it into the momentarily stunned doctor. Even as he fell, another took his place. This time, a nurse, clad in pink scrubs, dark hair tied back in a pony-tail. She carried a scalpel in each hand.

Taking a deep breath, Batman once again launched himself into battle. Several times the surgical blade slit the outer layers of his suit, once scratching a line on the cowl, just beneath his eye. Snatching a stethoscope from the nurse's station, Batman resorted to tricks he'd learn from his fellow League members. Tricks there warriors had found no occasion to learn. Even Batman had doubted the practicality of Vigilante's ranch-hand and rodeo clown techniques.

Batman caught her wrist with the stephoscope, keeping the blade well away from his body. Slamming the wrist against the nurse's station, he ducked under the swiping blade in her other hand, and proceeded to hit each of her pressure points from the knee up, all the while pulling her around like a ragdoll with her own arm, preventing her from striking out. Within minutes, the nurse was hogtied to a stool.

He knew that wouldn't keep her long, but he had come to suspect she wouldn't attack again. Otherwise, she would have helped while the doctor held his attention. This was intended to be one-on-one. The crime-fighter's jaw clenched at the idea. It was galling, but the only explanation. This was a training mission.

At the end of the hallway, a third assailant appeared. A large man with a wide face and a bald head, dressed as an orderly. Around his considerable waist, he wore what appeared to be a custom-made defibrillator. He held the paddles in his oversized hands, a vacant grin spreading across his face. Clearly, he hadn't paid attention to the last two bouts. Or perhaps he thought the Batman would be growing weary.

Instead, he was growing impatient.

Releasing a number of smoke pellets ahead of him, Batman charged with a ferocious roar, dodging the large man's blind attacks, and leaping against the wall, using the momentum as he pushed away again to strike as hard as possible at the mammoth's head. The round was over in seconds.

"Congratulations, Detective. Very impressive," Ra's al Ghul commented, stepping out of the shadows. "I must say I approve of the efficiency in the final bout. Be careful not to lose control of that anger of yours."

A dozen more members of the Assassin's Guild stepped out all around, appearing out of thin air in the empty rooms, behind the nurse's station, and at the end of every hallway. Each one at least as proficient in combat as Nightwing, the best of them on par with Batman himself. And Ra's… Ra's had spent centuries perfecting his techniques.

"You used me just to train your new recruits," Batman growled. "Of course I'm angry."

"A final test, to see if they are ready. Not all are suited to the life of an assassin."

With a subtle movement of his head, he ordered his men to remove the large orderly. Knowing Ra's, the man would be executed for his poor performance. It wasn't really his fault; Batman hadn't given him a chance. But the Demon's Head wasn't known for being merciful. Batman took a step forward, intending to stop them, to save the man's life, however little he deserved it. But there were too many assassins.

"You know better than to interfere with League business," Ra's commented, his eyebrow slightly raised.

"This is my city. That makes it my business."

"You have greater concerns."

Batman glowered at the old man, a look that had reduced hardened criminals to tears, caused hired guns to confess, led mobsters to leave town and go legit. Ra's didn't flinch. If anything, he looked amused.

"More assassins in training?"

"Perhaps."

"And the patient?" Batman spat. "You condemned a man to death simply to get my attention?"

Ra's smiled. His long green cloak stirred in an unfelt breeze. The Demon's Head held out a fist, turned it palm up, and unclenched his hand. In his palm, a corked test-tube glinted in the harsh hospital light. Inside was a green liquid.

"My theatrics are never simply for attention. You should know that by now, Detective. This is a derivative of the virus I used. A highly contagious derivative. Its symptoms are merely that of a common cold, for five days. After that…you've seen the effects."

Batman's fist tightened. Over the coms, he heard Alfred whisper a curse.

"You see, the tests were merely good timing. My purpose here is simple. You will agree to take my mantle. Or Gotham will experience an outbreak like nothing the world has ever seen. Every sneeze, every sniffle, every running nose becomes a potential portent of death. Unless you agree to my terms. Marry my daughter, and become my successor. You have until New Year's Day."

There was a blinding flash of light that filled the entire floor, and in the next instant, the hospital was empty. No doctors, no nurses, no patients. No assassins. All those hours of surveillance, watching the normal coming and going of medical staff and citizens… the whole time he'd been watching agents of the Demon. And they'd been watching him.

"Alfred, find out everything you can about Mercy Hospital. And get the Batwing ready."

"May I inquire as to your destination?"

"Nanda Parbat."


End file.
